


there's a ghost in my lungs

by vacantstars



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dragon Age II - Act 1, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Rivalry, it's not as sad as the tags make it out to be i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24395539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vacantstars/pseuds/vacantstars
Summary: He couldn’t imagine himself without someone who was so deeply intwined with his identity.That is, until he was forced to confront it.Or, a study in grief, and how Carver tries to pick up the pieces with the sister he has left.
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke, Carver Hawke & Female Hawke, Carver Hawke/Merrill
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	there's a ghost in my lungs

Carver had been part of a set for nearly as long as he could remember.

He and Bethany were separated by minutes and magic, yet they’d always felt like one in the same. Mother would ask where “the twins” had gone off to; Father would task Marian with keeping an eye on “the twins” while he went into town. Maybe all of that had contributed to his drive to forge his own way in the world and make a name for himself, but even so, he couldn’t imagine himself without someone who was so deeply intwined with his identity.

That is, until he was forced to confront it.

* * *

As a child, the Chantry tried to teach him to fear mages and put his faith in the templars. Magic was not to rule over man, and the safest place for a mage to be was the Circle. But Carver just couldn’t understand it. Mages weren’t magisters in Tevinter; they were the sisters he played in the woods with and the father who healed the cuts and scrapes on his arms when he fell into the prickly bushes around the farm.

Even then, though, he knew it was the reason that Father would call all of them back into the house if he noticed a neighbor eyeing them strangely during their games, and why he, Bethany, and Marian had bags full of clothes and belongings packed in their rooms incase the templars came in the middle of the night. It was also why Father had to spend most of his time with the girls, because they’d taken after him.

Carver would watch them from the porch sometimes, wishing that he could join in on their games. Being a mage wasn’t all fun, he knew that. There were nights when Bethany would wake up crying and terrified because of the demons that visited her in her sleep, and Marian couldn’t go into town or make friends like the other girls her age. But for the child he was, not having magic mostly just meant not having his father’s attention.

“He doesn’t mean to exclude you, you know,” Mother would try to assure him, wrapping him in one of her hugs. “Your father knows you can take care of yourself. Bethany and Marian need his help.”

Sometimes, though, that wasn’t enough. Once, he’d gotten into a fight with his father— what it was about, he’d long since forgotten— but it’d culminated with him shouting about how he clearly didn’t matter because he wasn’t a mage and slamming the door shut behind him.

Carver didn’t go very far. He climbed a tall tree in the yard and stewed there by himself for a while, until Bethany decided to join him. How she’d known he’d be there, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t bother to ask.

“Go away, Beth,” he grumbled.

“If you’re running away,” she said, “I thought I’d go with you.”

“I’m not running away.”

“What are you doing out here, then?”

“Sitting.”

Bethany raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” he amended, sighing. “You don’t need to be here. I’m not running away, I promise.”

Bethany said nothing for a few moments, instead looking up at the sky. It had just begun to darken. “I’m sorry Father spends so much time with me and Marian. I wish it didn’t have to be like that.”

Carver looked down at the ground. “It’s not your fault.”

“I think he’s proud of you,” Bethany offered. “You’re good with your sword.”

Carver snorted. “He’s mostly just happy I haven’t hurt myself with it, you mean.”

“You could give yourself _a little_ more credit, you know.” Bethany frowned, then paused. The sounds of the crickets and frogs filled the silence between them until she said, “Carver, if you do decide to leave one day, I’ll miss you. We’re meant to stick together.”

Carver drew a breath, most of his will to stay angry draining out of him. His sister just had that effect. “I’m not going anywhere, Beth. Who would keep Marian out of trouble if I did?”

“Not even the Maker can keep her out of trouble,” Bethany corrected mildly, laughing, as she leaned against his side.

* * *

The Blight came a few years after Father died. Carver’s mind was made up; he was going to fight. Ferelden needed him more than the farm did, and he wasn’t about to let the darkspawn take the family he had left.

Mother was too distraught to watch him get ready for war, so his sisters had taken it upon themselves to help him instead.

“How is anyone meant to fasten this themselves?” Bethany grumbled to herself, still fussing over the clasps on his armor. “This is ridiculous.”

“Fashion over practicality? You’d think it was Orlesian in design,” Marian quipped from the corner, where she was making sure he had all the supplies he needed.

Carver scoffed. “Don’t even joke.”

Bethany smiled, shaking her head. “You’re terrible, Sister.”

“Orlesians, darkspawn…add templars and you’ll have the ultimate un-fun trifecta.” Marian sighed wistfully, then set his sack down on his bed. “Father had a stash of medicinal herbs in the cellar. Might as well see that it won’t go to waste.”

She waltzed out of the room with a wave of her hand, and Bethany continued to fuss over his armor in silence for another minute or two before she said, “She is worried about you, you know. In her own way.”

“I’m sure.” Carver rolled his eyes. “Who will she have to take the piss out of when I’m not here?”

“It isn’t like that. You two don’t have to be at each other’s throats all the time, you know.” Bethany sighed, then stepped back, admiring her handwork. “I think that’s right, isn’t it?”

Carver looked down at himself. Part of him had been expecting to see a little boy trying on his father’s armor for the first time and looking like he’d strapped a water barrel to his head, but his once gangly limbs had been replaced with muscles, and the sword at his back felt like it was meant to be there. A part of him wondered if Father would have even recognized him.

“I look like a soldier, don’t I?” he asked.

“I think so,” Bethany said, and then paused for a moment, her expression sad. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“‘Course I will.”

“Carver—“ Bethany stopped, biting her lip. “With Father…I never felt like I’d said a proper good-bye. I always thought he was going to make it and I wouldn’t have to, but then he just…wasted away. I don’t want to make that mistake again. If something happens, never doubt that I love you.”

They shared a hug after that, but in the months and years that followed, he never stopped replaying that scene over and over again in his head, wondering why he’d never said those three words back to her. Maybe it would have felt too final. Maybe he was too proud. But instead, he had to live with the regret for the rest of his life.

* * *

Father died peacefully, in his sleep. Or at least, that was what Marian had told him when he woke up the morning after he’d passed. His oldest sister had taken to standing vigil over their father’s bedside during the night after he got sick, so Bethany could rest during the day. Their healing magic wasn’t proficient enough to cure him, but they could at least make him comfortable. Although the number of things he’d destroyed around the barn might indicate otherwise, he was glad that his father hadn’t died in agony. Even if Marian had only told him that to make feel better, the thought was comforting.

However, he knew for fact that Bethany did not get the same luxury.

Her death was abrupt and violent. One moment, she was fighting alongside them and that Aveline woman, and the next, and ogre grabbed her and smashed her into the ground. Carver had been on the battlefield enough to know that she was gone the moment he heard a sickening crunch that nearly made him vomit into the dirt. His sister, his kind, sweet twin sister, had her life smashed out against the rocks, and there was nothing he could do. They couldn’t even give her a proper burial, which made it all even _worse_.

The sight of his twin’s lifeless body haunted him still as they sat beneath the deck of the dingy boat that took them to Kirkwall as he tormented himself with ways he could’ve stopped or saved her. If he’d been faster, her could’ve grabbed her. If he’d been stronger, he could’ve taken down the ogre from behind. If he’d have just…just…

Marian had taken Bethany’s staff with them. Part of him was glad, and another part of him wanted to smash it to pieces every time he saw it with them. She had it in her lap as she sat across from him, leaning against a support beam and staring at it with an unreadable expression on her face. His sisters were very close to one another, he knew that. The shared experience of being mages probably forged that bond between them. He wasn’t the only one who’d lost a sister— a best friend, a part of himself— but pain made it difficult to see that.

“I am sorry about your sister, you know,” Aveline offered gently, when she caught what Marian was looking at. He’d nearly forgotten she was still with them. “She seemed like a lovely girl.”

Aveline just lost her husband, too. Carver should remember that. But for whatever reason, the woman’s sympathy just made him angrier.

“She was the best of us. Used to humor me whenever I made the worst puns I could think of. Only someone truly special would do that.” Marian smiled tightly. “I thought I’d still bring a part of her to Kirkwall, if I could.”

“That’s not Bethany, that’s a stick,” he cut in, feeling his temper flare before he could reign it back in. “Load of good it did her, too.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to bring something of hers with us,” Marian shot back. “I’ll be sure to make sure my grief is less offensive to you next time.”

“Marian, Carver, _please_ ,” Mother pleaded. It was the most said since she left Bethany’s side.

He folded his arms and turned away from his remaining sister, scowling. The fight wasn’t worth it if it meant upsetting their grieving mother, and in his heart of hearts, he knew it was wrong. Lashing out at Marian didn’t make him feel better, despite what one might’ve assumed. It just made him feel more empty, and he didn’t know how to make it stop.

* * *

Kirkwall was the City of Chains in every sense of the word. When they weren’t chained to Athenril anymore, they became chained to chasing enough coin to convince Bartrand of their worth. They were chained to Marian’s magic and the fear of getting caught that came with it. And above all else, they were chained to what had become of their family and the shadow his sister cast.

“Do you think I should ask the Knight Captain how he gets his hair like that?” Marian commented idly one evening, as they were strolling through the Lowtown bazaar on their way back to Gamlen’s hovel. The day’s events had brought them dangerously close to templars, and Carver was baffled as to how his sister could be so calm while he was still on edge. “We could trade tips. ‘Oh, Ser Cullen, do you style your hair with the blood and tears of mages, or is that just beeswax?’”

“Is everything a joke to you?” Carver asked irritably.

“Funny things are, mostly.”

“Being on the run from the bloody templars isn’t my idea of _‘funny,’_ ” he hissed. As if to emphasize his point, he glared at a shopkeeper giving them a strange look. “What if Cullen had caught on to you and I had to come home and tell Mother that you got carted off to the Circle for making an ass of yourself?”

“If making an ass of oneself was a crime in this city, Aveline would have her hands full more than she already does,” Marian replied cooly. “Besides, I don’t think Cullen would have noticed if I’d done blood magic and smacked him upside the head with a bought of irony.”

Carver threw up his hands. “Whatever. I get it. Clearly, only one of us cares about this.”

Marian sighed, stopping to turn and face him. “Carver, you realize that _I’m_ the illegal mage in this conversation, don’t you? I’m quite aware of what we’re up against. I simply choose not to spend my life cowering in a corner over it.”

Carver folded his arms. “You don’t get it.”

“Please, enlighten me as to what part of my being oppressed don’t I understand.”

_If they take you, I’ll have lost you both,_ he wanted to say. _I couldn’t save Bethany, and every time you run off and do something stupid and reckless, I keep thinking that this is it. You’ll be gone too._

But just like before Ostagar, he couldn’t bring himself to say any of that. Instead, it just came out as, “Fine, then. Set Meredith on fire too, while you’re at it. See if I care.”

Marian rolled her eyes and kept walking. “Good talk.”

Why was it always like that between them?

* * *

Wicked Grace nights at the Hanged Man became a regular occurance fairly early on in their time in Kirkwall, and Carver quickly discovered something that gave him an immense sense of satisfaction: His sister might’ve been good at many things, but cards wasn’t one of them.

“Well, I fold,” Marian said, dropping her hand onto the table and leaning back in her chair with a dramatic sigh. “You’ve bested me again, Isabela.”

“Of course I did.” The pirate smirked and added more silvers to her pile. “You play too fair. The nobility is adorable, but you’re sure to lose that way.”

“You lasted longer than I did, at least,” Anders offered from his seat next to Marian.

“I’ll bet she could,” Isabela mused, raising her eyebrows. 

“Really, Isabela?” Anders made a face as Marian almost choked on her ale. Varric began to laugh, Aveline rolled her eyes, and Fenris tried to hide his snort in his drink.

“Gross.” Carver grimaced, deciding he was far too sober for this. Apparently, however, Merrill was the only one in the room who didn’t seem to get it.

“Did I miss something dirty?” she asked, turning to him.

Carver immediately felt his face heating up, as it tended to do a lot around her (Why did she have to ask _him_ about the dirty thing?) before stammering out a very dignified, “I mean, well—”

Thankfully, Isabela came to his rescue. _“Merrill,”_ she sighed.

Merrill blinked. “What?”

“Go think about it, kitten. I’m sure it’ll come to you.”

Despite not always finding their friends to be the most agreeable lot in the world, Carver had come to enjoy their company (maybe especially Merrill’s) on nights such as these. It was certainly better than hanging around Gamlen’s shack, anyway, even if the ale tasted of nug piss and he had to endure his sister flirting with the possessed mage they’d found in a sewer. It was…nice, he supposed, to just relax every now and then.

Eventually, Aveline got up from her seat. “As interesting as this has been, I have to be back at the barracks tomorrow morning.”

“Come on, you don’t want to watch Hawke lose more coin to Rivaini?” Varric smirked.

“I knew I could count on you for support in my hour of need, Varric,” Marian chimed in.

“Somehow, I think I’ll do without that,” Aveline responded, but Carver could swear she was smiling as she did.

“Oh, it’s getting late, isn’t it?” Merrill suddenly piped up as she started to gather her things. “I should be getting back to the alienage. I keep getting lost, and I’m nearly out of twine.”

“Why didn’t you say something, Daisy?” Varric asked. “I could’ve gotten you more. We wouldn’t want you getting lost for good out there.”

“I’ll go with her,” Carver blurted out before he could stop himself. His face only grew redder as he felt everyone’s eyes on him. “I mean, it’s dangerous out there at night. Gangs and all that. I know my way to the alienage.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Merrill smiled. “I could use the company.”

“Interesting,” Isabela mused.

“Shall I tell Mother not to wait up?” Marian teased. 

“Quiet, you.” He glared at both of them as he grabbed his sword and followed Merrill out the door.

A breeze coming off of the water had thankfully cooled the night air outside. The Free Marches were much hotter than Ferelden ever was, and Carver wasn’t sure he was ever going to get used to how unbearable the summers could become. Maybe he’d buy a foundry full of ice with the money from the Deep Roads expedition. Almost as if she could read his thoughts, there were about a block from the Hanged Man when Merrill suddenly asked, “Do you miss it? Ferelden, I mean.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “I miss the dogs barking. And the people, mostly.”

“Yes, it’s mostly humans barking at me here. Not nearly as a cute.” Merrill paused. “Did you leave a lot of family behind, there?”

“My father died before the Blight. And my other sister…” he trailed off. “She didn’t make it much past Lothering.”

“Oh, I’d nearly— Creators, I’m so, so sorry.” Merrill’s hand flew up to her mouth and she sounded mortified by her perceived carelessness. “I shouldn’t have asked, I’ll stop talking.”

“Merrill, it’s alright,” Carver said, surprising even himself with how calm he sounded. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

Normally, whenever one of their friends brought up Bethany or tried to offer condolences, he’d lash out or shut the conversation down as quickly as it began. But with Merrill…he just couldn’t do it. There was just something so genuine, so earnest about her than he knew she wasn’t trying to pity him. She’d just been looking for a connection, as he had. Maybe that was what had drawn them together in the first place.

“The Blight took so many good people.” Merrill closed her eyes, her voice quiet. “We lost two members of my clan to it. I know it isn’t the same, but…I am sorry, about your sister. Ir abelas.”

“Thank you.” Bethany would’ve liked Merrill, he thought; or maybe that was just wishful thinking. He could practically hear his twin teasing him about how he always managed to stick his foot in his mouth around her, and the ever-present emptiness threatened to swallow him again as his heart ached at the thought. “I’m sorry about your friends.”

“You’d have gotten along with them, I think. Mahariel, at least. Tamlen could be a little…prickly, around humans.” Merrill smiled sadly. “Maybe they’re with your sister now, and they’re keeping each other company.”

“With the Maker?”

“Or Falon’Din,” Merrill said, gazing up at the cloudless sky. “You never know.”

* * *

The sadness came in waves. Sometimes, things were fine; he was too busy trying to make coin and attempting to keep Marian away from the templars’ gaze to focus on anything else. It was the quiet that meant trouble.

He, Marian, Anders, and Merrill were walking through Hightown one afternoon, not one of them looking like they actually belonged there. His sister was at least having fun with it, though, and smiled cheerily at a passing templar while he scowled.

“Must you?”

“Last I checked, being friendly wasn’t a crime,” Marian said, then added thoughtfully, “although I wouldn’t put it past Meredith to put it into her next ordinance.”

“It would be in-character for her,” Anders added helpfully.

“Maker,” he groaned. “Now there’s two of you.”

Marian suddenly stopped as they passed a merchant’s stall full of trinkets, something apparently having caught her eye. Carver was about to point out that they hardly had any coin to spare when she said, “Bethany would’ve liked this bracelet.” 

The sadness inside him began to rise up again, and he couldn’t take it.

“I’m going to look at the swords,” Carver announced loudly, then stormed off across the plaza.

It was always likely that between them, wasn’t it? Sniping at each other instead of just talking, when the latter might’ve actually helped? But then again, being angry had become familiar. It was easier. Carver had carried that rage with him for months and months, and if he let it go, he’d have to admit how alone he actually felt in this city and talk about a grief he just couldn’t stand.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sulking by a weapons stand instead of actually browsing the wares, but soon enough, he felt a small hand on his arm.

“Carver, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Merrill.” He sighed. “Just…shopping.”

The elf seemed unconvinced. “You don’t really like shopping.”

“Well,” he said, “that’s apparently what we’re doing now.”

Merrill said nothing for a moment, instead taking a step so that she was standing next to him. She examined the swords briefly before motioning to one and said, “This one’s rather shiny, isn’t it?”

Carver peered over her shoulder to examine it for himself. The sword wasn’t just shiny; it was nearly as reflective as a looking glass. Staring back at him were two blue eyes so full of barely suppressed anger and pain that he nearly didn’t recognize them as his own. Maker, was that really what he looked like? What a mess.

He forced himself to look away. “I like the one I have better.”

“I do too. You’re quite good with it.” Merrill peered up at him, as if she was searching his face for an answer to an unspoken question. “We should be getting back to your sister. Something’s going to try gnawing at her shins soon enough, I know it.”

As the elf steered him back towards Marian and Anders, Carver couldn’t help but feel the eyes he’d seen in the sword burning a hole into his back with their gaze the entire time.

* * *

The wave had to come crashing down eventually.

Carver had spent much of their trek up the Wounded Coast bickering with Marian, who seemed to be taking it in stride as she did everything else. For whatever reason, his sister’s inability to take anything seriously was standing on his last nerve today, and the unbearable Marcher heat wasn’t making things any better.

“Just admit it,” he grumbled. “We’re lost.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Carver?” Marian asked, strolling along the cliffside as if this was a leisurely jaunt through Hightown. “If we stand around here long enough, something’s bound to happen, I’m sure of it.”

“Or, we’ll get stuck up here for a week with absolutely no idea of where to go,” he countered. “But sure. Lead on.”

“Well, I don’t see you volunteering to do so.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Oh, please do. Carver, come to save us from the terrors of Massive Head Trauma Bay at last!”

“You’re one to talk,” he snapped, his temper flaring. “We’ve all seen what happens when _your_ leadership skills slip up.”

Carver regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. He’d crossed an invisible, unspoken line between them, and there was no going back now. They could bicker and prod at each other all they wanted, but he’d gone and lashed out using the one thing he knew would hurt his sister the most. Marian stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, her expression unreadable— but for a brief moment, he could’ve sworn he saw the mask slip and genuine pain leak through.

“Sister—” he started, but was quickly cut off as Marian’s eyes widened at the sight of something behind him.

“Carver, look out!” she cried. All of a sudden, he was knocked backwards with a blast of his sister’s telekinetic magic, and before he could regain his footing, a knife soared through the air and landed in her shoulder. Marian fell to one knee, the hand on her shoulder coming away bloody. 

Suddenly, it all came rushing back— the darkspawn, the ogre, the blood, Bethany’s lifeless body laying on the ground— and at the thought of losing his remaining sibling, something inside him just snapped.

Fighting the bandits was a blur, largely because he was too pissed off to bother noticing or remembering their faces. All of them were the one that thrown the knife at Marian; all of them were the darkspawn that had taken Bethany. He didn’t stop until there were none left and he heard Merrill’s voice telling him that it was over, that they’d won.

“Marian,” he panted, searching wildly for her before Merrill motioned over her shoulder.

“She’ll be all right. Anders has her,” she assured him. “He won’t let anything happen, I’m sure of it.”

He watched as Marian yanked the blade from her shoulder with a grimace, while Anders’ hands began to glow blue with healing magic. Merrill was right; as much as he and Anders didn’t get along on most days, he knew he genuinely cared for his sister and would never leave her injured. That brought his heartbeat somewhat back to normal, at least. But the fact remained that he could’ve lost her too, and it would’ve been Bethany and leaving for Ostagar all over again.

Something had to give.

* * *

Frankly, given the day’s events, it was unsurprising that he dreamed of darkspawn that night. Usually, it was the bloodbath at Ostagar that plagued his nightmares, but when the ogre smashed Bethany into the ground, he woke up in a cold sweat. The hills outside Lothering were gone, and he was back in Gamlen’s hovel— which, all things considered, wasn’t much better. However, the bedroll next to his was empty, and Marian was nowhere to be found. Her mabari was still asleep by the door, though, so he had an idea of where to look.

He found her sitting up on the roof, looking out over Lowtown as the stars twinkled above them with a bottle of wine in her hands. The bandages Anders had used to tend to her stab wound were visible under the collar of her nightshirt.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, taking a seat next to her. “Is that from the Hanged Man?”

“Fenris, actually.” Marian held out the bottle so he could see it. “He says it’s made from the blood and tears of slaves, which I’m not sure is an improvement over rat droppings.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fenris has a sense of humor?”

“You know, I’m not sure he was joking. I sure hope he was. It’d spoil my appetite if he wasn’t.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few more moments until Carver couldn’t take it anymore and the words he’d been meaning to say since the Wounded Coast came spilling out.

“Sister, what I said before— about what happens when you slip up. What happened to Bethany…” He closed his eyes, swallowing thickly. “It wasn’t on you.”

Marian glanced over at him in surprise, raising an eyebrow. “Carver, are you apologizing to me? Do you feel well? Did those bandits hit you on the head too?”

“Oh, shove it, you. I was trying to be nice.” He elbowed her in the ribs, but there was no real bite to it. If anything, it was playful. “It’s just…Bethany wouldn’t want us to fight like this. I know that. But every time I think about what happened to her, I just get so…so…”

Angry. Sad. Lonely.

“I know,” Marian said quietly, briefly glancing away. “I miss her too.”

“Then when I saw you go down today…” Carver shook his head. “I thought it was happening all over again.”

A look of surprise crossed Marian’s face, but then it softened as she nudged him gently with her good arm. “I thought you knew by now that you won’t be rid of me _that_ easily. Who would give you your daily headache and take the wind out of your sails if I wasn’t around? It’d be a travesty.”

“Oh, lovely. Thanks for that.” He rolled his eyes, but found himself smiling all the same. “I take back what I said. You sure it’s too late to resurrect those bandits and ask for a favor?”

“From what Merrill told me, it sounds like you stabbed them so hard their mothers felt it. That doesn’t put most people in an amiable mood.”

Carver sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, they were asking for it.”

Marian smiled and shook her head, taking a sip of Fenris’ wine straight from the bottle. “Did I ever tell you about the time Bethany and I decided we wanted to learn how to shapeshift to make friends with all the dogs in Lothering?”

Carver snorted. “No, but now I’ve got to hear this.”

His sister offered him the bottle of wine, and he took a swig of it. “Well, it all started after Mother told us we couldn’t keep _all_ of the Saunders’ puppies…”

They continued swapping stories like that until the sun rose and the rest of Lowtown began to wake, the air between them gradually becoming lighter and lighter as they spoke. It didn’t fix everything, but it was a start. A last drink to the dead, as it were. And for the first time since the Blight, Carver began to realize that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to shoulder so much of the weight from their flight from home on his own.

There was no replacing what they’d lost. But there was no reason they couldn’t look forward, either.

**Author's Note:**

> I always thought it was kind of a shame that the game never really explored the Hawke twins' relationship with each other, and thus, this was born. I think it got away from me at some point, though. Either way, I'm always sad about the Hawke siblings.


End file.
